


Destiny Unbound

by CerberAsta



Series: Theros 2: Uncharted Realms [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Destiny, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Theros (Magic: The Gathering)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22085971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerberAsta/pseuds/CerberAsta
Summary: In a Theros where the people's trust in Heliod wavers, a forgotten goddess reaches up from the Underworld.
Series: Theros 2: Uncharted Realms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589761
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Destiny Unbound

# Destiny Unbound

In his youth, Diametes had been a soldier in Akros. Like all the others, he bellowed Iroas’ name as he plunged his spear into the monsters that would terrorize his kin. He scoured the mountains for minotaurs and had been damn good at it. Eventually, one got the better of him-- the mutilation of his leg had left him with a limp that made him a liability in combat. His friends and family still loved him, but he felt Akros was no longer for him, so he made his way out.

In his adulthood, Diametes set to pottery in Meletis. They would not turn aside him for his injury and let him pick whatever profession he chose. His hands were scarred and unused to the fine craftsmanship of a potter's wheel, but he learned. Long hours staking out a minotaur's cave gave him the patience he needed to build up the skill for throwing clay on the potter's wheel until it felt like they spun themselves into masterpieces. He made a small name for himself. Some of his pieces even found their way into the houses of elite citizens with gold to burn.

The call of Iroas left him in time, and he once witnessed Ephara on a jaunt outside of the city. Diametes spent occasional time in her temple. He was moved by her emphasis on order, though the plea alone did not move his eidolon to dance about within his form. Still, he took up an oath in her name and helped around the town where he could.

Then a flock of harpies washed over Meletis and ransacked his shop. Diametes killed them, of course-- he was rusty and held little love for Iroas these days, but his Akroan spirit had never fled his bones. In the melee, a set of vicious claws robbed him of three fingers on his left hand-- his good hand. Diametes snarled as he looked at the broken pottery with a bleeding limb. He sold off his potter's wheel and all but one of his last, whole pieces and left Meletis with a satchel of all his life left.

In his old age, he became a farmer in Setessa. His Meletis-made money bought him a decent plot of land, and he knew how to wield a blade or three. His leg ached and his left hand mocked him, but Diametes persevered. He became competent enough with his right hand with time, and the grizzled farmer amassed a bounty. 

Ephara had not kept up her end of the bargain, in Diametes’ eyes, so he let his end fall away in due time. He never swore an oath to Karametra, but he provided frequent offerings to her. One of her dryads assured him that Karametra used them for orphans adopted by Setessa. Something about it unnerved him, but he wasn’t sure what.

During his fourth year in Setessa, Diametes went to the market to exchange some of his vegetables for a few cuts of meat as a treat and found a companion in Orphys. Orphys was a rugged gentleman, a scant three years younger at fifty-six. The romantic artisan preferred growing flowers over vegetables. Orphys made Diametes smile with his gorgeous weaving and beautiful dyes. Diametes put his potter’s hands to use in making Orphys smile in return.

Alas, Orphys could not bear to stay in one place, and he often travelled for weeks at a time. He had to see the great sights to maintain his inspiration, and Diametes understood. Orphys always returned. Diametes felt at peace with the solitude, but certain nights in Setessa made him uneasy. Nyx hadn't been quite right ever since that last Champion's death at the hands of her own patron. 

Diametes knew the stories of betrayal and the corruption which would cling to one's eidolon. He’d heard tales of the mad king who betrayed his advisor and slaughtered him for a ritual taught to him by a snarling archon. What should have propelled him into godhood instead so thoroughly fouled Nyx above his land that his royal subjects cried out in fear of their world ending. Ephara and Karametra heard the cries and responded first. Ephara struck the man down at once. 

His miasma-- the spiritual corruption of own’s eidolon, was potent. The wretched aura of his actions poisoned the castle for decades, making it an attractive lure for monsters until it was completely overrun. Karametra allowed the land to reclaim the befouled place, and eventually sought to purify it by claiming it for her own-- Setessa.

What kind of miasma would a god's betrayal bring? How did Heliod feel with such a weight chained around his spirit?

Diametes shook his head with a bemused chuckle. Orphys's poetic whining had been getting to him of late. The old man stroked his thinning beard, his vibrant browns given way to smooth silver long ago, and looked out towards the distant mountains. He heard what sounded like a wolf howl and grumbled. Wolves meant rodents, and rodents meant his Orphys' flowers could be in danger. No way would he let them get into the iris patch. All he needed was for Orphys to have fuel for a weeks' worth of poetic needling. 

So Diametes emerged from his home and stepped out into the warm night air. Summertime in Setessa meant a heat you couldn't sweat enough to get cool in, but Diametes had been getting colder and colder, so it no longer bothered him as it did when he first arrived some twenty years previously. 

He was shocked to see a figure standing in his garden. She was bent over Orphys' flowers, tracing the petals of one with gentle fingers which seemed to glide over it without disturbing the plant. Diametes analyzed her with both the eyes of a soldier and a potter. She had long, white hair and unblemished, pinkish skin. She wore golden trinkets in her hair-- they almost seemed to grow from her head, but she was no satyr. Immaculate golden cloth wove around her top while a similarly high-quality pink gown was gathered around her waist. He gathered all that within a second and acted.

"Evening," he said hoarsely.

The woman stood up, and Diametes still failed to gauge her age. Her features had a strange, amorphous quality to them, or else Diametes' eyes were failing him like everything else. Surely she didn’t have… that much hair… 

"You have a lovely garden,” the stranger said.

"My husband's," Diametes said gruffly, "I ain't got an eye for growing flowers."

"Tell him they're lovely for me, when he returns," the woman said cheerily.

Diametes hadn't mentioned that Orphys was out. Sure, he talked a little at the nearby market, but he was sure he hadn't seen anyone like her there. His hackles rose. This weren't a natural human. No Nyxborn could hide their true nature, and she had no smell like any sort of monster Diametes had encountered in his ten years as a soldier. That left one thing…

"Come in, if you like," Diametes said, waving gently at the door, "I've got the makings of a decent tea, if you fancy that."

The woman smiled and followed Diametes into the home. He started a fire and set the kettle on.

"My name is Diametes, stranger," the old man said as he placed the tea leaves in two, matching cups, "I've been a soldier and a potter. Nowadays I'm something of a farmer and house husband for my artist partner. What brings you out to my abode?"

He'd been a patron of Iroas in his youth, and the god of Victory respected the bounds and order of things. For a brief time, he worked with those who worshipped Ephara and looked to her in kind. She knew that a Polis must be judged not by its greatest citizens but how the city treated the least. These days, he followed Karametra, if less full-heartedly than the others, and her insistence was that a bounty was only worth something if it was shared. Hospitality was a virtue in all of Theros.

"You are well-mannered, Diametes of Akros, born of Aiaxos and Medesi. You follow the way of things as always. My most beloved servant, unknowing of his true patron."

Diametes glanced nervously at the kettle, then settled into the chair.

"I do not recognize your mantle."

The woman cocked her head.

"Even now, you dare not ask a question of your guest until assent is clear."

"I dare not presume to ask questions of a god."

The woman nodded.

"You may ask."

"Who are you?" Diametes asked quietly.

His voice shook the tiniest bit on the first syllable, but the old man gathered his strength on the way through. 

"I am a forgotten god."

A wind kicked up outside, and the woman's eyes burned. Diametes grasped the table with his right hand. His leg ached like it had done beneath the Minotaur's grasp and he felt the harpy's talons upon his flesh anew. 

"Why… are you here?" Diametes asked through gritted teeth.

The god’s hair moved with a life all its own, covering her eyes as her form slowly changed. Two more arms appeared from nowhere, bearing a censer in one and a great spear in the other. Her hair… it poured out over his home and so resembled thread… 

"I'm here to tell you a story."

The thunderous voice surrounded Diametes like nothing he had ever felt before. An inexorable pull towards something he always knew.

“Once, long ago, there were two girls born to two different kingdoms. Alisandra and Eryxmetes. I gave them the same destiny.”

_**K…** _

Diametes had heard tales of Alisandra. Her mother tried to have her abandoned in the woods. Killing one’s child could result in the gods themselves bringing swift justice, but abandoning them… was just leaving them up to fate.

Diametes’ guest swept out one hand and visions of a brown-haired girl in the forest sprang before his eyes. She partied with satyrs, raced centaurs, and wrestled minotaurs. 

“Their destiny was thus: You shall kill your mother. Alisandra’s mother rebuked my destiny and struggled viciously against it. Alisandra became a satyr-raised wild child who struck out to slay beast after beast. She was led to her home kingdom by my inexorable strings. Some gentle conniving drew up the queen’s paranoia, and she began hunting every girl of Alisandra’s age. Alisandra was called by the spectacle… and she fell in love with the upcoming sacrifice on first sight.”

The god paused to tilt her head.

“I was so good at love back then,” she said wistfully.

Diametes watched her carefully. He did not recall this god or her involvement in the tale, but something about her seemed familiar.

_**L…** _

“Alisandra started a party that night, and got most of the guards drunk. She snuck into the chambers where her lady-love lay bound… in wretched chains… and she freed her. That might have been the end of it, but my strings pulled.”

Diametes felt threads wrapped around his legs, but he felt no fear. It felt familiar, like they’d been there his whole life… pulling him to one single moment…

_**O…** _

“They got lost. A simple maneuver, with a little mist… A few shadows cast upon the castle walls. Alisandra found herself in her mother’s bedchambers with a frightened girl at her side. The mother awoke to two ragged girls… and screamed. My destined child sheathed a knife in the woman’s throat to silence her and ensure their escape.”

The goddess pressed her free hands together and stared into Diametes’ eyes.

“And so Alisandra’s mother died in a frightened panic, never having known the wonderful hero her daughter became or having been known in turn. Alisandra certainly never gave another thought to the shrill woman in the tower. It could have been anyone.”

_**T…** _

Diametes shuddered and coughed.

“But what about… the other girl… Eryxmetes. That name is familiar, but I don’t know the story.”

Eryxmetes… sounded like a friend he had had as a child. Or was it Ermalion? Wait, why did that name sound so familiar to him… 

The god chuckled.

“Of course her story was blotted out. It was boring, I’m afraid. Beloved only by me and those who shared my motivations fully. When my messenger told Eryxmetes’ mother her daughter would be the death of her, do you know what she said?”

_**H…** _

Diametes’ eyes widened, and the answer spilled out of him.

“All children are the death of their parents, is it not so? Tis a blessing to know I shall not outlive my child.”

The god leaned forward, and though her eyes were covered, Diametes sensed a hunger in the god. An anticipation… 

_**Y…** _

“Do you remember what you did?” the god asked.

“I raised her. As I should,” Diametes whispered.

“But you fell ill on your seventieth birthday. The pain was unbearable. You would not live through the week, and all of Pharika’s aides could not abate the pain. So you asked strong Eryxmethes to hand you the bottle of cyanide, and she killed you.”

_**S…** _

Diametes’ entire body shook with the revelation. His eyes rolled back.

“I have whispered my name within your dreams for decades, little Diametes. When I ushered your eidolon through Nyx, through the waters of forgetfulness, and on into the great world, I placed a strand of my power within you. You have followed my strands of destiny, and they have borne you out a good life! You embraced each twist and turn of life and so lived it to the fullest, so do this one thing for me, my beloved child.”

The god placed her hand against the gaunt cheek.

“Speak my name, and force the upper world to remember me.”

The man shouted a name long-forgotten, a title besmirched, a string of letters not placed near one another in centuries. Blotted out hatefully long ago.

“ _ **KLOTHYS, GOD OF DESTINY**_.”

The woman vanished, leaving only a strand of her hair around Diametes’ wrist. He stared at it intently, until the whistling of the kettle brought him out of the reverie. 

Diametes hobbled over to pour himself a cup of tea. He paused for a moment, then poured the hot water into the second cup as well. He’d need it.

Heliod’s miasma had taken shape, and her name was no longer forgotten. 

“Orphys my love,” Diametes muttered as he watched the tea leaves darken the steaming water, “We are in for some interesting times…”


End file.
